[Region E — Far South-East. The Long Shore.]
[Friday, 7:05 AM]
Rex Arwyn had been given the worst region on the island, and he had known it before the barrier came down.
Region E was a joke.
Eleven kilometres of beach and salt scrub.
No Marked Sites worth walking to, no density, no terrain worth the name.
Everybody who looked at that map in the four minutes they were given reached the same conclusion, and the students on the south-east sand had laughed about it out loud.
A hundred and seventy-four of them went into the scrub anyway, because that was what there was.
Rex sat down on a rock.
Rex Arwyn, Class 1-C.
Ordinary face, ordinary build, the sort of student teachers described as pleasant.
He had come third in the entrance examination out of a field that included two people whose families owned guilds, and not one person in the year could have told you what his attribute was.
That was not an accident. He found the question tedious.
